Cure In Absolution
by RevQ
Summary: Searching for the solution to a potions problem, Hermione finds more than she ever expected...AU, SSHG, set 3 years after The Goblet Of Fire. Mild suicide themes. An expansion of a oneshot drabble I wrote for Occlumency.
1. A Discovery

_Locked in the prison of my mind,_

_I have no escape, no respite._

_You all despise me for what I am._

_But your hatred is nothing compared to my own._

_Images of sins, past and present, are etched permanently into my eyelids._

_Sleep is but an entrance into a whole new level of fear and self-loathing._

_Little wonder I put up this mask, this facade._

_You accuse me, unjustly, of being evil, The "Bastard" who detests all that is light;_

_I am much worse than that..._

_Endangering my own life constantly is not enough to atone for my transgressions._

_So I will scowl. I will play the part so well-crafted. I will frighten you, hate you, punish you._

_Until at last - my work complete - I can shut my door, clutching my cure, and forever take the pain away._

* * *

Hermione raised her hand to the door, tentatively…it was kinda unusual, visiting a professor in the middle of the night – but her NEWTS were coming up ever quicker, and that last potions question on the revision paper…well, she'd rather wake up a snarky Snape and get the question right than face an even snarkier Snape in the morning when she got the question wrong!

She'd searched all the books she could get her hands on, but to no avail.

Who knows? She might even find the professor awake, _gentle stirring a softly simmering potion…_

She finally plucked up the courage to knock, and tapping the door lightly, she moved back slightly in case an angry Snape answered the door. When a few minutes had gone by, she tapped again. This time, she kept her ear to the door. She heard a muffled groan-

"Professor?" she called, worriedly.

When there was no answer, she stepped back, and surveying the charms locking and guarding his door, she set to work.

They were crafty and complicated, but she wasn't called Hogwarts' "Know-it-all" for nothing.

Feeling slightly smug, but quickly remembering the reason she'd had to undo the charms in the first place, she slowly opened the door – stepping backwards, suddenly, horrified at what she saw…


	2. Moste Potent Potions

Professor Snape was lying on the floor, face-down, shuddering and bucking uncontrollably. A broken potion-phial lay in his outstretched, trembling hand, the remnants of an evil-looking green fluid leaking out of it.

_Gods_, she thought, _what had happened here_?

"Professor?!! Professor," Hermione shrieked, rushing over to kneel at the cold, shuddering form.

She looked from Snape's pale, deathly face (_paler than usual_, her mind, unbidden, supplied in black humour) to the crushed phial in his hand. She cautiously picked up a tiny shard of the glass and sniffed it.

Immediately recoiling, vaguely recognising the pungent stench – _that smell, what was it_? -- she remembered that she'd read about it somewhere…Mor, no, Mortus?...no, wait…

"MORTOXIS!-

"Oh Professor, oh gods, what have you done??" Hermione whispered in growing horror.

She gently turned Snape's (now gently-trembling) body over, starting at the anguish in his obsidian eyes.

"Leave me…" he wheezed, grimacing slightly at Hermione's emphatic "NO!".

"Girl…" he whispered, painfully, breaking down into hoarse, jagged coughs.

"Please, professor, tell me the antidote-"

"You tell me something worth living for."

"Well…" _oh, gods, she couldn't say anything without sounding pathetic and ridiculous..._

What could she say? _Quick_, she berated herself, _he's dying…_

"Me," she squeaked without thinking, "me," she said again, louder this time. She cringed, fully expecting to be laughed at by her dying teacher, but instead was surprised by his reaction. His face inscrutable, he winced "page 1060 of Moste Potente Potions".

* * *

Hermione couldn't move fast enough, flicking through the pages of Snape's well-worn, leather-bound tome, reaching for the ingredients in his supplies-cupboard.

She suppressed another flash of black humour; the last time she'd been scrabbling through the professor's cupboard so frantically had been back in 2nd year – when she'd illegally brewed the Polyjuice potion.

Hurriedly slicing, crushing and juicing ingredients, she began making the antidote potion. Leaving it to simmer while she turned back to Snape, she realized that his breathing was softer, slower than before. Shit. She needed to hurry – she pulled his head into her lap and checked his eyes. His pupils were dilated, but he still seemed to be conscious.

"Professor Snape, sir?"

He blinked and muttered something unintelligible.

"Sir, just wait, I'm making the antidote…and I know it sounds corny, but…hold on."


	3. And Their Antidotes

Hermione gently laid Snape's onto the stone floor, and went back to the potion. She was glad that this was a fast-brewing, fast-acting potion. She was also lucky that Mortoxis was a paralysing potion that was relatively slow-to-kill, and once paralysis set in, there was no pain.

She was also lucky that the antidote could be effectively administered even in the final stages of paralysis. She guessed that Snape hadn't been counting on someone stopping him in this act of…well, suicide. _Gyah! What an idiot I must've sounded like, saying "me," as if I were important. What else could I have said though_?, she thought, frantically racking her brain, whilst keeping an eye on the potion as it bubbled its way to completion.

Glancing back at Professor Snape, she was surprised to find him staring at her as intensely as a man stricken with paralysis could. Trying to reassure him, she said "It's coming Professor, I'm hurrying as fast as I-" she broke off as the potion turned a violent purple.

Reaching for a clean potion-phial, she scooped up some of the antidote, taking care not to get any on her hands. Hermione then carried it carefully, almost reverently over to the paralysed Potions-master. Gently taking his head into her lap again, she cupped his chin, and poured the potion into his mouth, massaging his throat to encourage his numbed throat-muscles to swallow.

* * *

For what seemed like hours, Hermione poured phial after phial of the potion down the poisoned professor's throat, encouraged only slightly by his vaguely-clearing eyes.

When she finally reached the bottom of the cauldron, and had administered the last phial of potion, she gently slapped his sallow cheeks and chest as the hand-written notes at the bottom of the potion-recipe had suggested.

"Professor, sir, Professor Snape? Can you hear me? Please," she gasped as Snape did not seem to be responding to the potion…_please, oh gods, wake up_… "Sir, please, I need you…for exams, please wak-"

"Miss Granger…" Hermione gasped as Snape struggled to speak, his voice weak and hoarse, "I understand that you are in the habit of perpetually exercising those lungs, but please spare me th-" he shuddered and coughed harshly, causing Hermione to wince, "Professor, you shouldn't be talking right now, we have to get you to Professor Dumbledore or Madam Pomfrey," ignoring the glare he gave her.

"Use the Floo-network to summon Professor Dumbledore, then kindly make your way out of my private laboratory…and if you mention this…" he paused, wetting his lips, "…'incident' to anyone – anyone at all, your life won't be worth living. And you can forget your 'dreams' about being head-researcher for the Ministry."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again, wisely, and settled for simply glaring back at Professor Snape.

Helping the Professor to slump into one of his high-backed chairs, she stalked over to the fireplace, and taking up a pinch of Floo-powder, spoke into the fireplace,

"Professor Dumbledore…"


	4. Climax

**_A/N: I am very sorry for the lateness of this new chapter - I hope it is satisfactory, but please keep in mind that I wrote it in a hurry...I'll take more time for the story soon! Thank-you to all the people who reviewed/faved or added this story to their alerts...you shall be rewarded XD_**

* * *

_NOISE_.

Noise that irritated him, and chafed at his ear-drums.

The whining hum of Albus and Hermione's hushed voices.

Noise that permeated all his senses, until his already-raw nerves buzzed painfully.

He positioned his trembling fingers at his temples in a feeble attempt to ward off the serpentine coils of a sickening migraine, and the dark and tormenting memories of what had just happened.

_NO_. He would not face it, face what he had tried to do to himself, _free himself of the groping, festering paws that bound him_ – struggling – _to life_.

He stifled a moan at the shrill whistling of the tea-kettle that Albus had oh-so-thoughtfully set at the fire-

-**tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap**-

-what new torment was this? His nails bit at the skin of his temples, clawed their way through his hair, leaving livid stripes in their wake-

-**tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap**-

-he winced at the incessant tapping noise as Hermione distractedly struck the tip of her wand against her thigh.

Hermione…_oh, gods, Hermione, what had she done, what had he let her do??_

He stuffed his knuckles into his mouth, muffling the sob that threatened to escape…

…_oh gods what had she seen?_

The shrieking of the kettle gouged at his mind, flaying open the part of himself that he would not – could not – see, without horror rising, sending icy needles down his spine, clenching his gut till he tasted bile at the back of his throat.

The part of himself that lay whimpering, pitiful, naked, and raw against the onslaught of his own, personal, hell.

The part of himself that could not recover from the shock of the grievous harm, done to his body, mind and soul. Worst of all, the knowledge that he had done this to himself.

He keened, mentally, as the screeching kettle reached a climax…the high-pitched scream that never, ever seemed to STOP-

-_screaming, screaming_,

Blood boiled in his head, a dull _thud, thud, thud, thud_, as everything was muted – except for _THAT_ scream…

"ENOUGH!" he roared hoarsely, realising at the horrified expressions on the faces of Hermione and Albus that the kettle had stopped boiling long ago – and he was the one screaming.

"ENOUGH, ENOUGH, ENOUGH!"

He reached the fireplace within two inhuman strides, snatching up the kettle, and dashing it against the wall of empty vials, potion bottles and jars, the almighty _SMASH_ masking Professor Dumbledore's murmured "stupefy."

Severus sank to the floor and knew no more.

"My poor boy, oh gods, what have I done to you?" Professor Dumbledore whispered in anguish.


End file.
